


Brainfreeze

by explosionshark



Series: How to Live Here [2]
Category: Life Is Strange (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Eventual Amberpricefield, F/F, Friends to Lovers, Mutual Pining, Pre-OT3, slowburn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-24
Updated: 2016-07-18
Packaged: 2018-06-10 08:38:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 12,470
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6948244
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/explosionshark/pseuds/explosionshark
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sweet camera, Max,” Rachel says, leaning over Max’s lap to pass the bottle back to Chloe. “Can I see it?”</p><p>Chloe tenses, tongue poised behind her teeth to interrupt again, but Max only hesitates for a moment.</p><p>“Sure,” she agrees, handing the camera to Rachel. “It’s a Spectra Pro.”</p><p>“It used to be my dad’s,” Chloe says, and it hurts a little like it always does, but then Max catches her eyes and smiles. It’s a gentle sort of smile, something for a scared kid or some wounded animal. It’s okay, it says. I’ve got you.</p><p>---</p><p>With Max back in town, Chloe finds herself splitting her time between two best friends.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Max

**Author's Note:**

> Part 2 of OT3 AU! Make sure to check out the first installment for delicious, delicious backstory and just overall really pretty writing by [Kaelin](http://archiveofourown.org/users/TippyTypewriter).
> 
> Title from "Brainfreeze" by Bully. 
> 
> Special thanks/my eternal love and gratitude to [Jer](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Eiprej/pseuds/Eiprej), [P.A.](http://archiveofourown.org/users/AccidentalAccount/pseuds/AccidentalAccount), [Reagan](http://archiveofourown.org/users/herwhiteknight/pseuds/herwhiteknight) and [Amy](http://mostlymilkwood.tumblr.com/)for the beta.

It’s a beautiful morning in Arcadia Bay: sun shining, birds singing, the whisper of wind through pine needles and the distant crash of waves weaving an intricate tapestry of sounds and sensations. The warmth of the sun on Chloe’s skin is a pleasant contrast to the infrequent gusts of crisp autumn wind that bite right through the thin cotton of her hoodie. She breathes in deep, feeling the cold air catch in her lungs and fighting back of a wave of nausea.

Yeah, okay, all this fresh air bullshit is _definitely_ making her hangover worse.

Chloe groans, scrubbing a hand down her face and pushing out a lungful of air through her nose. She shoves a hand into the pocket of her borrowed hoodie, digging around through gum wrappers and tangled earbud wires for something to take the edge off her headache. Rachel had been on her period when she left the sweatshirt in a crumpled ball in Chloe’s truck last week; she almost always had something on her for cramps.

The search yields a pair of copper tablets. Chloe barely takes the time to pick off the blue pocket fuzz that clings to them before she swallows them dry, gagging and wishing she’d brought a bottle of water with her.

In her defense, she never expected to be dragged out of bed any time before noon on a Saturday.

Chloe closes her eyes, listening for the distant click and whirr of her dad’s old camera.

Even after all this time, Max is always throwing her for a loop.

“Hey nerd,” she calls out, embarrassed when her voice cracks from disuse. She clears her throat, and continues, “You almost done? I’m freezing my tits off and you promised me breakfast…”

Chloe’s dismayed by the lack of immediate response, twisting around to peer behind her, catching a flash of Max’s grey sweatshirt among the branches.

Chloe sighs, shuffling out of the patch of warm sunlight she’d been standing in at the cliff’s edge, missing the heat the nearer she draws to the trees.

“Max?” she tries again.

“Shhh,” Max’s voice is sharp, though not unkind. She’s hunched over in the dirt, stock still and dead serious, camera poised in front of her face, pointed at something Chloe can’t make out. There’s a _leaf_ in her hair and Chloe wants to laugh but then Max shifts just slightly, jaw set hard enough to strain the muscle in her neck and Chloe has to bite down hard on the feeling that the sight stirs up in her gut. She catches it between her teeth, and swallows it back, almost too big for her throat, heavy and warm in the pit of her stomach when it lands.

Something to deal with later.

Or, y’know, never.

There’s a moment of perfect stillness, the whole world is the wind in the trees and the flutter of Max’s eyelashes and _then_ \--

The snap of the camera’s shutter and the quiet, proud huff of Max’s breath when she falls back onto her butt in the dirt, twisting around to grin breathlessly up at Chloe.

“Got it!” Max announces, eyes alight, lifting the camera up over her head like a trophy.

Chloe’s eyes lock on Max’s panting face and she hates herself for the way the weight in her gut melts and spills over, warmth filling her up from the tingling tips of her fingers to the heat high on her cheeks.

Chloe takes a step closer, catching the bushy tail of a squirrel darting up a tree out of the corner of her eye. She drops to one knee next to Max in the dirt, feeling her stomach lurch nauseatingly again, grateful when Max fails to notice.

She could probably be playing up the hangover for sympathy. It’s what she’d be doing if Rachel had the balls to drag her out of bed this early on a weekend. But for some reason, the thought of Max knowing how wasted she was last night sticks in her throat worse than the pills from before.

“Look,” Max says, leaning back and angling her body so that Chloe can see the picture over her shoulder.

Chloe can feel Max’s eyes on her face as she peers down at the photo, dappled with the shade of the trees overhead. Chloe forces her eyes to focus on the picture in Max’s hands, counts in her head to keep her breathing even, and tries to share Max’s enthusiasm for the admittedly gorgeous shot of an otherwise painfully unremarkable woodland animal.

“This is hella good, dude,” Chloe tells her, pleased that she can say it and mean it. And it's not like she hasn’t _known_ all this time that Max is an amazing photographer, but there’s a quality to her art that couldn’t be communicated through a screen.

Before Max returned to Arcadia Bay, Chloe hadn’t been able to understand why Max always insisted instant film was her favorite medium. Even with her limited knowledge, Chloe knew that it was outdated, impractical, and _super fucking expensive_. Everything Max shared on social media was ridiculously good, Chloe couldn’t understand why digital photography wasn’t her focus.

And then she had spent an hour just lying on her back on the floor of Max's dorm room, staring up at the wall of Polaroids above her bed. With Max sitting behind her on the couch plucking away at her guitar, Chloe had been relaxed and barely stoned at all, content in a way she'd forgotten she could be. It wasn’t an epiphany so much as an acknowledgement of something that had been apparent all the while. Like spending half the day running errands with your mom before you recognized she’d gotten her hair cut. Max Caulfield wasn’t just the girl she’d grown up with anymore. She was like a _legit_ artist. The kind of talent that was going to be blowing up on the Internet in a few years. Someone whose gift was too real, too immense for Arcadia Bay.

Still, she couldn’t say that Max’s talent had ever really surprised her.

Max was always just obnoxiously, effortlessly _good_ at photography.

Chloe remembers the trip their families took to the beach when they were kids. She remembers the crisp five dollar bills their parents had given each of them when they stopped at the drugstore for more sunscreen. She had tried to get Max to follow her lead, blow the whole thing on candy. She’d been so frustrated when Max had refused, tiny hands wrapped determinedly around the cheap plastic of those shitty disposable cameras that had been everywhere in those days. Chloe had liked best when they did things the same, so scared even then that Max would get too far away from her.

She still has a couple photos from that roll of film, tucked away in a shoebox under her bed. A pair of gulls on a rock, a blurry boat at sea, a heart drawn into slick brown sand, **CHLOE + MAX 4EVER** written in the center with painstaking care. She remembers dragging the stick through the sand until she got it to look just right, the frantic giggles she shared with Max as they raced to take the picture before the surf undid her handiwork. She hadn’t minded then when the waves had washed it all away, but something about the memory now makes her chest go tight with melancholy.

“Squirrels are such cool subjects,” Max gushes, ripping Chloe out of her memories and back into the present. “And they’re _everywhere_ here. I forgot what it’s like to have nature right outside your door.”

“Guess that’s one area where Seattle can’t compete, huh?” Chloe smiles, charmed by Max’s enthusiasm. She reaches out before she can stop herself, plucking the leaf from Max’s hair, letting the backs of her knuckles brush down the chestnut strands along the way.

Which is, y’know, totally _not_ a weird and gay fucking thing to do.

Max’s breath hitches and Chloe whips her hand back, waving the leaf back and forth between them.

“Sorry,” she blurts, hating the note of panic in her voice. Fucking _stupid_. “You had a…”

Max shifts on her rear, sliding around to face Chloe and leaning back into the dirt. She raises the camera and Chloe goes instinctively still until Max takes the shot. Dropping the leaf, Chloe reaches out wordlessly to take hold of Max’s arm and haul her back up into a sitting position.

Max delicately removes the photo from the camera, inspecting it carefully for a moment before passing it to Chloe.

She sees herself, pierced bottom lip drawn up between her teeth, brows furrowed in concern, leaf in hand. The angle is trippy, the background a canopy of leaves pocked with patches of sky.

“There are a lot of ways Seattle couldn’t compete,” Max says softly, smiling as she plucks the photo from between Chloe’s fingers. She ducks her head, blushing slightly, gnawing on her lip nervously, like she’s surprised by the words that just came out of her mouth.

Chloe’s honestly a little surprised too, and it shows in the silence that lingers between them before she can get her bearings back.

“Yeah, bet they don’t stack ‘em like _this_ in the city,” Chloe shoots back cupping her tits through her shirt with a smirk, gritting her teeth against the stutter of her heartbeat when Max’s blush deepens. “You almost ready to go? Not trying to alarm you or anything, but if we stay up here too much longer without any food, shit might go full Donner Party…”

“Gross,” Max’s brows furrow, mouth curling down in disgust and Chloe can’t help but laugh. “Just… give me a few more minutes, okay?”

“Maaax,” Chloe whines.

“C’mon, Chloe,” Max rises to her feet, extending her free hand to help haul Chloe up as well. “I just need a few more shots, alright? Just chill for a little while longer, I’ll get you an extra side of hashbrowns. Deal?”

“Deal,” Chloe sighs, rocking back and forth on the balls of her feet. “Alright, you have fun freezing the rest of your already insubstantial ass off over here in the dark--”

Max widens her eyes comically, making a show of slapping a concerned hand over her rear, mouth dropping open in feigned offense.

Chloe grins, managing not to laugh as she continues, “ _I’m_ gonna take a page outta your hippie handbook and see if I can go, like, draw sustenance from the sun’s rays before I keel over and _die_...”

Max snorts, “God, you’re so dramatic.”

“You love it,” Chloe boasts, bold and alive, running the tip of her tongue along her top row of teeth.

“Yeah, yeah,” Max grins, shoving her shoulder. “Go eat some sun beams, Clover.”

Chloe laughs, making her way back toward the edge of the cliff. She follows a trail of beer cans and cigarette butts, kicking some of the debris back toward the fire pit along her way. The ash is cold when she kneels down in front of it. The last party was probably days ago. She remembers crashing some rich Blackwell asshole’s get together with Rachel last weekend. Maybe some of this garbage was even left here by them; it’s hard to say. Her memories of that night get a little fuzzy after the Cuervo and the blonde with the tongue stud got thrown into the mix.

The thought leaves her a little guilty. Max is all about the environment; there’s no way she’d be down with all those drunk idiots trashing the place.

She definitely wouldn’t appreciate Chloe being one of those drunken idiots.

Bored and curious, Chloe plucks a stick from off the ground, sifting through the ash to see what she can uncover. Shards of glass, more cigarette butts, bits of charred firewood, condoms, and a disturbingly intact pair of tighty whities.

It’s so ludicrously fucked up Chloe almost wants to laugh. Kids play here. _Little kids_. Hell, she and Max had made this place their stomping grounds back in the day, and she knows it couldn’t have been any different then. The parallel worlds of adults and children - things you can’t unsee in the corners of the room once your eyes adjust to the dark.

“Okay!” Max’s voice accompanies the sound of approaching footfalls, leaves rattling and twigs snapping as she trudges gracelessly back through the underbrush. “I’m all set. You ready to go?”

The need to protect Max from what she’d unearthed overcomes her, urgent and overpowering. Impulsively, Chloe draws herself upright, sweeping as much dirt as possible over the pit with the broad side of her boot.

“Chloe?” Max’s voice is closer now, a few yards away.

“Yeah?” Chloe shoves her hands into her pockets, turning around with practiced nonchalance.

“What are you doing?” Max asks, tilting her head inquisitively, as if the new angle would reveal some obvious truth she was somehow overlooking.

“Nothing,” Chloe says, jogging over to Max. She wraps an arm around Max’s shoulder, steering her to the path down the hill. “Starving to death.”

There are things that Max is going to discover, eventually; about this place, about these people, the world at large. Maybe not today, but someday. It’s inevitable. Chloe knows she can’t stop that, knows it’s probably not her place to try.

But she can’t deny the relief she feels when Max allows herself to be lead back toward the truck.


	2. Rachel

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Dude. What are you doing?”
> 
> Unconsciously, Chloe drops her left hand into Rachel’s hair, brushing it back from her face, scraping her nails lightly against Rachel’s scalp.
> 
> Rachel leans into the touch, quirking an eyebrow up at Chloe. “Well, I thought my best friend and I were going to go dress the statue of our town’s revered founder in our various exes’ shitty clothes, but I guess she’d rather stare at her phone all night instead."
> 
> \---
> 
> With Max back in town, Chloe finds herself splitting her time between two best friends.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Eeeey, new chapter. I forgot to update this on Monday. My bad.
> 
> Thanks again to the kind folks that beta'd this one for me! [Jer](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Eiprej/pseuds/Eiprej), [P.A.](http://archiveofourown.org/users/AccidentalAccount/pseuds/AccidentalAccount), [Reagan](http://archiveofourown.org/users/herwhiteknight/pseuds/herwhiteknight) and [Amy](http://mostlymilkwood.tumblr.com/). What good dudes. What accomplished fic writers themselves. Golly.

Rachel is thrumming with excitement beside her when Chloe pulls into the darkened parking lot. She bounces in her seat, reaching down to yank the black plastic trash bag filled with old clothes up from the floor.

“I hope Bartholomew Abigail Babcock is ready for his makeover,” Rachel says, breaking out into laughter before she can even complete the sentence, head thrown back, cheeks dimpling. “God. Can you imagine your parents hating you enough to name you that? The 1800s were fucked.”

“I know, right?” Chloe says reaching into her pocket to pull out her phone. It had been buzzing against her leg the entire drive, a handful of text notifications from Max springing up when she activates the screen. “No wonder this town is full of losers. It was founded by, like, a mega-loser.”

“I wonder if it’s like vampires,” Rachel says, after a beat, watching Chloe’s thumbs glide across the screen of her phone. “Like, if we punk out the head loser do we break the curse? Will everyone suddenly turn cool?”

“Not fuckin’ likely,” Chloe snorts, still tapping out a response to Max. “But it’s our duty to find out.”

Max has been texting her on and off since Chloe had dropped her off at her dorm two hours ago. It had been kind of surreal walking Max back to her dorm room and then zipping back down the hall to let herself into Rachel’s room.

Max was never much of a night owl; Chloe’s surprised she’s still up to text her. She’s watching cartoons in bed, apparently, texting Chloe jokes from episodes of Powerpuff Girls they’d watched when they were kids.

Chloe grins down at her phone, replying with something inane to yet another update on the plight of the citizens of Townsville.

Rachel sighs heavily and stretches her arms above her head before sinking down onto the seat, laying out her body, pillowing her head on Chloe’s lap.

Chloe stops texting, pulls her phone up alarmed and peers down at Rachel’s face in the dark.

“Dude. What are you doing?”

Unconsciously, Chloe drops her left hand into Rachel’s hair, brushing it back from her face, scraping her nails lightly against Rachel’s scalp.

Rachel leans into the touch, quirking an eyebrow up at Chloe. “Well, I _thought_ my best friend and I were going to go dress the statue of our town’s revered founder in our various exes’ shitty clothes, but I guess she’d rather stare at her phone all night instead. So, why not take a nap?”

Chloe rolls her eyes, cupping a hand behind Rachel’s head guiding her upright.

“Okay, okay. I get it. Let’s go.”

They exit the truck and make their way to the center of the park. It’s dark as fuck. Chloe slips on a slick patch of grass, landing on her knees, dew soaking through the worn fabric of her jeans. Rachel only laughs a little when she helps her back to her feet, bumping her hip into Chloe’s as they walk. She keeps her hand curled around Chloe’s elbow until they reach the statue, warm through the cotton of her hoodie.

The phone buzzes again in her pocket and Chloe reaches for it unthinking, setting her bag on the floor.

“ _Seriously,_ Chloe?” Rachel huffs, spilling the contents of her own bag onto the floor and crouching down to sort through everything they’d brought. “Put that thing away. C’mon.”

Max’s text shines up through the cracked screen of Chloe’s phone. She wants to know what Chloe’s doing. Smirking, Chloe reaches into her own bag feeling around until her fingers brush dull metal. She withdraws the spiked dog collar they’d brought and spins it a few times around her finger before dropping it next to the scissors and duct tape at the base of the statue, snapping a quick picture she sends without a caption.

Max is gonna _flip._

“ _Please_ tell me that didn’t just go to your Insta,” Rachel mutters. “You might not have anything to lose but if this gets back to Blackwell I could still get expelled.”

“No, chill, I’m not an amateur,” Chloe rolls her eyes, slipping the phone back into her pocket. “Besides -”

It buzzes again and she cuts herself off, grinning. Chloe fishes the phone back out, laughing under her breath at Max’s predictably bewildered reaction.

**NO EMOJI** , she responds.

“Are you for real right now?” Rachel whines, the barest hint of real irritation slipping through her tone. She picks up a ratty old tank top and cuts it in half from the back. “Tell this bitch to go sit on a dryer or something ‘til we’re done here. God. Who even is it?”

“No one,” Chloe smirks, detecting the thin thread of jealousy beneath Rachel’s obvious annoyance. Nothing drove her crazy quite like not being the center of attention.

“C’mon,” Rachel presses, standing up and fitting the ripped tank top around the statue’s awkward metal torso. “Is it the ginger from the coffee shop? No? Is it Forehead? Shit, is it Septum Ring again? She was all over you for like three weeks.”

“Her name was Nicole,” Chloe says, ripping off a strip of duct tape and helping Rachel secure the ruined shirt over the statue. “And, nah, it’s none of them. I haven’t even heard from Nic since last month, anyway.”

Rachel hums in discontent stepping back and straightening the tank top out.

“Fuck,” Chloe says, overturning her bag onto the floor and kicking more scattered articles of clothing in Rachel’s direction. “Anyone ever tell you you’re kind of a pig?”

“What’s the point of learning their names when you’re done with them in a weekend?” Rachel shrugs.

Chloe grits her teeth against the unexpected spark of hurt that ignites in her chest. It’s stupid and she knows it. It’s not like that isn’t true.

“This is kind of proving my point anyway,” Rachel points out. “So whose experiment are you this week, if not theirs?”

Chloe eyes up the statue, flicking open her pocket knife with deliberate flourish and grabbing a pair of frayed cut-off jeans from the pile of clothes. She slips the blade beneath the denim and pulls down hard, attempting to saw her way through the thick fabric.

“It’s not _always_ like that,” Chloe protests. She’s not sure _why_. As soon as the words are out her mouth she already feels like she should have just shut up.

Rachel watches her struggle for a few moments before snatching the shorts away from her and cutting through them with several quick, jagged snips of her scissors. “The knife-wielding punk schtick is cute, but it’s gonna take you hours, Priceless. All flash, no bang.”

“Who would have guessed out of both of us you’d be the scissoring expert?” Chloe jokes, trying to wind herself down. She grabs the shorts back and holds them in place around the statue’s waist for Rachel to tape back together. It’s starting to look pretty good. A definite improvement.

Rachel preens and reaches back into the pile, withdrawing a leopard print vest and a faded flannel. She holds them out before Chloe lifting one and then the other until Chloe finally selects the vest. Rachel nods and makes quick work of it, scissors slicing through fabric with a satisfying metallic click.

“Must be nice getting laid basically whenever you want,” Rachel sighs.

“Please,” Chloe rolls her eyes. “It’s not like you have any trouble.”

“Yeah,” Rachel shrugs. “But boys are boring. And _so easy_ , there’s like no sense of triumph after, y’know?”

“So try girls.”

“I _have_.”

Rachel’s smile is positively filthy. It sends a rush of heat through Chloe’s whole body, quickens the pace of her heart by half a beat.  
  
Okay, yeah.

So she has.

“But anyway, it wouldn’t be the same. You’ve got that bad boy thing going on that makes those community college trysexual panties just melt right off. You’re like lesbian Elvis Presley.”

Chloe laughs, “Wouldn’t that be, like, k.d. lang?”

“Nah,” Rachel grins back. “Well, I guess in terms of vocal ability, yeah? But not as a corrupter of virtuous young women. I mean, she’s hot but she doesn’t have that swagger, y’know? Like, you can tell she’s not enough of an asshole.”

“ _Thanks.”_

Rachel’s laugh goes off like a firework, bright and beautiful and sudden.

“C’mon, you know I mean that in the most loving way possible. You may be an asshole, but you’re _my_ asshole, Priceless.”

“You’re such a douche,” Chloe complains, unable to fight her own smile. She shoves Rachel’s shoulder playfully, plucking the scissors from her grasp to cut up more clothing for the statue. The pile is barely there anymore, they’re almost done.

“You love it,” Rachel boasts. “Okay, no, really, who is it?”

Deflection has proven entirely ineffective; Chloe figures there’s not much left to lose with honesty.

“Max.”

She expects some level of offense, the return of Rachel’s jealousy. She’s surprised when Rachel laughs instead, eyes lighting up in that way that Chloe knows means trouble.

“Holy shit, Chloe. I know you have a rep for breaking in girls, but Max? Jesus Christ, her umbilical cord is still attached.”

It’s not the meanest thing Rachel has ever said, not even the meanest thing she’s said tonight, but it sits in Chloe’s stomach, sour and unwelcome.

“It’s _not_ like that,” she says, not quite able to control the bite in her voice. “Anyway, fuck off, she’s eighteen.”

She’s not sure why she bothered adding that. Rachel grins, though, like she just tipped her hand, revealed too much and even though Chloe knows it’s not true she feels a wave of guilt wash over her. Protesting is going to make it worse, but she can’t stop herself.

“Mmmhmm,” Rachel hums, clearly unconvinced.

“It’s _not_ , Rach,” Chloe insists, annoyed. “We’re friends.”

“Yeah,” Rachel says, _so smug_ . And, okay, sometimes that’s really hot but right now Chloe finds herself hating it, finds herself surprised by how _much_ she hates it. “I know. And I know what you do with your girl friends.”

There’s a protest on her lips but it dies before she can summon the air to breathe it out. Rachel’s watching her closely now, hazel eyes intent on her face, and Chloe can feel the weight of every fumbling, drunken touch they’ve shared in the dark.

“Knock it _off_ , Rachel. That’s not what this is.”

Rachel looks almost as surprised as Chloe feels by the unexpectedly stern rebuke but it only lasts for a moment, expression melting back into undisguised self-satisfaction. “Shit. I guess it’s not. She’s got you really sprung, huh?”

Chloe realizes her entire body has gone stiff. Her heartbeat is thrumming in her ears, jaw clenched tight and aching. The churning in her gut has settled to a low, simmering anger, she can feel the heat creeping up her chest, along the back of neck, starting to bleed into her face.

She’s _mad_.

She’s _so mad_ and it’s fucking stupid because she finally registers the quirk of Rachel’s brow, the twitch at the corner of her mouth and it all clicks into place.

_She’s fucking with you_.

Chloe lets loose a long, low groan, tugging her beanie off her head and carding a frustrated hand through her hair. “Fuck you, dude,” she chuckles.

Rachel gives up the act, grinning unabashedly, pleased to have been caught.

“If you play your cards right,” she breathes, flipping her hair.

“Fuck,” Chloe laughs, “if I wanted a cold fish, I’d call your mom.”

“Baby, you couldn’t afford her,” Rachel shoots back, just enough bitterness seeping through for Chloe to know they’re even now. “Speaking of older women, though…”

“Ugh, what?”

“Pretty sure I saw the history professor at BCC eyeing you up on Thursday.”

“Gross, dude, she’s like sixty.”

“ _Exactly._ Distinguished, _experienced_ , knows what she wants…”

Chloe’s phone buzzes again, the sound injecting a fraction of the tension they’d just broken back into the space between them.

Rachel pops an eyebrow, focused like a laser. “Well, loverboy? Gonna get that?”

Chloe holds her gaze for a moment and shrugs, letting the strain rise off her body like steam. “Not right now. We’re almost done.”

They finish dressing the statue, turning the town’s founder from a rather uninspired nineteenth century Pioneer into a fashionable gutter punk. For the finishing touch Chloe shimmies up the statue, worn Converse slipping on the smooth metal, and fastens the studded dog collar around his neck.

“Should’ve sprung for a ball gag,” Rachel notes with a hint of disappointment, surveying their work while Chloe gathers the scattered supplies they’ve left on the ground.

She snaps a quick picture, sending it to Max without checking her last text, and decides not to take Rachel’s bait. She’s surprised to find she’s kind of exhausted.

“What do you want to do next?” Rachel asks, back in the truck.

Chloe drums her fingers against her thighs, annoyed despite herself at how wound up she feels over their exchange. She reaches across Rachel’s lap and pulls a pack of cigarettes out of the glove box. She fumbles with the pack for an embarrassingly long amount of time, can’t get her Zippo to work when she finally has one in her mouth to light.

Rachel slides across the bench, settles two fingers around the cigarette. Chloe parts her lips and lets Rachel take it from her.

Rachel lights it herself, throwing Chloe a wink as she takes the first drag. Chloe stares at the ring of lipstick around the filter for a moment after Rachel passes the cigarette back. She fits it into her mouth, closing her lips around the stains.

Rachel watches in silence as she smokes the whole thing

“What’s wrong?” she asks, pulling the pack from Chloe’s grasp and lighting another cigarette for her when she reaches for more. Her voice is soft this time, no hint of any teasing.

Chloe pushes a stream of smoke through her nostrils. It burns, but she doesn’t show it.

“I don’t fuckin’…”

She could say it, she knows.

She could say that it had really bothered her, to hear Rachel running her mouth about Max and all the other girls, even if she can’t quite articulate why. She wouldn't really have to; Rachel never pushed when Chloe really didn't want to be pushed.

But she doesn’t want to make this _a thing_ , so she just sighs and shrugs.

“Anxious,” she says through another mouthful of smoke.

Rachel nods and swings her door open, marching around the front of the truck. She opens the driver’s side door and leans in. “Scoot.”

“What are you doing?” Chloe asks, obeying.

“I’ll drive,” Rachel says. “Who’s working at the Snack Shack tonight?”

Chloe’s brow furrows, trying to remember the shift schedule at her work. “Um. Rody?”

“Hmm, yeah,” Rachel nods. “He’s always staring at my tits. Okay, I’ll go in, pick us up a six pack, then we hit the pier.”

“Man, it’s fucking cold. I don’t wanna go to the beach…”

“Then we’ll go to the Cabin,” Rachel shrugs. “I don’t care. I’ve still got a dimebag stashed there from last week, I’ll smoke you out. Okay?”

“Okay,” Chloe agrees, feeling steady again. Rachel starts the truck and cautiously pulls them out of the parking lot. She’s not as comfortable driving, never has been, but it makes her careful. Stiff and alert, hands at ten and two.

Chloe flicks her smoldering cigarette butt out the window, breathing out against the spark of guilt in her chest.

Rachel hits the radio at their first red light, singing along softly as soon as she recognizes the song.

Chloe leans forward, turning up the volume until Rachel’s voice soars, filling up the empty spaces between Chloe’s ribs with a different feeling entirely.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Look who's got a tumblr! [It's meeeee!!!](http://explosionshark.tumblr.com/)


	3. Max

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the skipped update last week! I was living it up with my best friends in the great white north, nearly passing out at the hottest loudest concert I've ever been to, eating Canadian candy, being mystified by the magazine racks at the local drugstore, and receiving a crash course in Essential Film.
> 
> Anyway, much love to all previously mentioned betas who continued to do their great work in this chapter as well as the last. i'm really sorry, guys, but I'm way sick of all the copy + paste.
> 
> Enjoy the fic! Two more chapters to go!

The truth is that Chloe doesn’t actually mind having to drive Rachel back to campus at seven on a Sunday morning. The truth is, when Rachel had descended from the loft above the great room to begin to make the coffee she would bribe Chloe with that morning, Chloe had already been awake.

Rachel had kept her word the night before, getting Chloe high when they made it back to the Cabin. Chloe had smoked until her lungs felt wrapped in thick gauze, limbs loose, mind foggy and buoyant. She’d fallen asleep on the couch, fingers buried in the hair at the nape of Rachel’s neck, Rachel a warm weight over her lower body.

It was the best sleep she’d had in a month.

When she awoke two hours later, cotton-mouthed and hazy, a throw blanket replacing the weight of Rachel’s body atop her own, she’d known she wouldn’t be getting any more sleep.

Hating to be alone in the Amber family vacation home, Chloe had considered making her way to the loft to join Rachel, getting as far as halfway up the stairs before talking herself out of it. Rachel had left her asleep on the couch for a reason, after all.

In the end, Chloe had settled back down on the sofa to respond to Max’s texts. She managed to doze fitfully in the time it took for Rachel to wake up, but those brief snatches of sleep had left her no more well-rested, only groggier and more agitated. By the time Rachel had crouched in front of the sofa to shake Chloe awake, she had actually been grateful for the opportunity to get moving despite her many dramatic protests to the contrary.

The truth is, Chloe would do anything for Rachel. And from the slow, sly coiling of Rachel’s lips, the delicate, theatrical dance of her fingertips across the backs of Chloe’s knuckles, the elaborate sweetness usually reserved for clueless boys that creeps into her voice when she presses  _ please, Priceless, _ Chloe suspects Rachel already knows. But the bitching and moaning is part of a tradition now and too many of those have been ripped away from her already. She’s not about to lose another over something as petty as honesty.

“I’ll see you later,” Rachel says, pressing a distracted kiss to Chloe’s cheek on Blackwell’s front lawn. She darts off towards the main building and catches herself at the steps, turning around with one hand on the railing. “When does your shift start?”

“Ten,” Chloe says, hands in her pockets, restlessly jangling the change in her pockets. “I’m off at four thirty.”

“I’ll bring you some cookies,” Rachel says and then disappears into the building.

Two and a half hours until work. Faintly woozy from lack of sleep, Chloe knows she should probably head home and try to catch another nap, but the thought of running into David is more exhausting than any bout of insomnia. And she’s already at Blackwell…

It’s early and a weekend. Most of the students are still asleep, but Chloe only has to spend ten minutes looking inconspicuous on the bench outside of the dorms before a pack of girls make their exit. Chloe slips in behind them before the doors lock.

Her plan kind of hinges on Max answering when she knocks on her dorm room door, so when that doesn’t happen Chloe finds herself a little lost. She knocks again a little louder, gaze darting nervously down the row of closed doors that line the hallway. If she pisses someone off and they call security, she’s fucked. It’s been a while since their last fight and even though she’s been staying out more, Chloe can feel the tension between herself and David beginning to mount. He’s been waiting for a chance to chew her out. She’ll give him something to bitch about sooner or later, just to get it over with, but she’d rather they not fight over Blackwell, not when she finally has a reason to want to be there.

“Chloe?”

Chloe jumps, turning on her heel to find Kate Marsh peering at her from her doorway across the hall. The door opens a little wider and Kate steps out, fully dressed.

“Are you looking for Max?”

Chloe nods, shifting on the balls of her feet. “Yeah, I … need to give her sketchbook back.”

The lie slips off her tongue before she can even figure out why she’d been compelled to craft it anyway. Kate nods, closing her door and locking it behind her.

“She’s showering. Do you want to leave it with me? I’ll be seeing her later.”

“Ah, no, that’s okay.”

“Okay. Are you going to wait here then?”

The thought flashes through her mind, suddenly:  _ Why wait? Go find her _ . It’s startlingly inappropriate because  _ Max is in the fucking shower _ , and Chloe blinks, consternated. It must show on her face because Kate’s voice is concerned when she speaks next.

“Chloe?”

“I’ll, uh, wait here. Thanks, Kate,” Chloe stutters. Then, to deflect, “Are you going to the, y’know, food … thing?”

Kate smiles patiently, the tapping of her foot the only outward indicator that Chloe is probably massively wasting her time. “Yes, I’ll be at the fundraiser. Rachel asked me to work the register.”

“Cool, cool.”

“I’m sure Max will be back soon.” 

The moment Kate exits the dorms, Chloe slumps back against Max’s door. She drums her fingertips against the wood and tries to will her body to relax. 

Okay.

Weird.

That was  _ weird.  _

Not, like,  _ the weirdest _ , though. It probably  _ wouldn’t  _ have been weird at all when they were kids, but  _ is  _ kind of weird now because, well, boundaries.

It’s so  _ easy _ being with Max again that sometimes the six years between them feels like something from a dream: surreal, out of place, in defiance of all logic. Chloe had expected the awkwardness that had tinted their relationship the first few days to persist. Maybe, she thinks, it would be better if it had; if they still fumbled over their words sometimes, if they were still learning how to behave around each other again, if it didn’t feel so much like they’d never been apart. Because what they have instead, this effortlessness, is dangerous.

Because despite how easy as it is to forget the time they spent apart, there are times when the negative space of the last six years springs up between them, a chasm, bottomless and hungry. And good things are heavy, hard to carry. Chloe’s sweat-slick grip is shaky enough without the added hazard of complacency. This thing, she knows, could slip away as easily as it had come.

Frankly, it bums her the fuck out.

But it’s not so bad, the fear, when it reminds her to be careful, to take it slow, to appreciate the things she’d taken for granted back when they were kids.

Max finds Chloe slouched against her door in the hallway five minutes later, so lost in her thoughts that she doesn’t notice Max’s arrival until they’re right next to each other. Max is pajama clad, hair still damp, dripping down across her shoulders.

“Chloe, hey,” she says, hugging Chloe quick and hard. The bundled up towel she’s carrying gets caught between them, leaving a damp spot against Chloe’s hip. “Shoot, sorry.”

“It’s fine,” Chloe says, staring intently at Max’s face and trying not to think about the fact that her childhood best friend is not currently wearing a bra.  _ Get your shit together, Price. _

Rachel’s words from last night,  _ I know what you do with your girl friends _ , ring loud in her ears and she shifts, guilty.

_ Don’t fuck this up. _

“What are you doing here?” Max asks. She blinks then, sheepish. “Not that I’m not happy to see you--”

Max’s foot-in-mouth disease is familiar, and a welcome distraction, giving Chloe something else to focus on.

“I had to swing by to drop Rach off this morning,” she interrupts, mercifully, unable to help her grin at Max’s immediate relieved expression. “She organized the bake sale today with ASB, they’re setting up right now.”

“Oh,” Max says, looking disappointed. She shifts the towel in her arms to rest directly against her stomach. Chloe feels suddenly like she’s said the wrong thing, but she can’t figure out what.

“Then I thought, ‘hey, I’m hungry as fuck, Max is here. She owes me breakfast, it’s time to collect,’” Chloe says.

“I bought you breakfast yesterday,” Max protests, the stern set of her brow betrayed by the laughter in her voice.

“You also woke me up at eight on a Saturday morning yesterday,” Chloe points out. “I’d say that’s worth  _ two _ breakfasts.”

“Ugh, inflation,” Max complains, inching forward. Chloe takes the hint, shuffling out of Max’s path to allow her passage into her dorm. “I’ll be right out and we can settle my debt.”

By the time they make it back to the truck, it’s 8:00, she has about an hour and a half until she needs to head home to get ready for work. Chloe takes them to the drive-thru of the Mexican place by the pier, ignoring the longing look Max shoots at the Two Whales when they drive by. It would be pushing things a little, but Chloe knows they probably have enough time to grab breakfast there.

But Joyce is working the morning shift and Chloe feels too frayed to handle whatever inevitable confrontation awaits them, sure that some loose string of hers would catch on one of Joyce’s sharper rebukes. The effort it would take to stop herself unraveling would be better spent trying to keep herself awake the rest of the day.

Besides, the handful of interactions she’s had with her mother in Max’s presence so far have been civil enough. Chloe knows that record is bound to break, but she’d prefer it at least be after she’s had more than a few hours of sleep.

The logical thing to do would be to drive Max back to Blackwell and eat with her in the parking lot, but the view of the beach from the street in front of Carlito’s is unobstructed and Chloe can’t resist the hypnotic pull of the waves.

She pulls the truck in backwards into a parking space at the edge of the sand and leads Max around to the truck bed, dropping the tailgate to give them somewhere to sit. The metal is freezing cold on her ass through her jeans. Chloe almost apologizes but Max doesn’t complain at all, just winces and reaches into the paper bag between them to start handing out the food.

“What?” Chloe asks, popping an eyebrow at the look of naked distaste Max levels at the pile of empty sugar packets balanced on Chloe’s knee and the coffee cup beside her lap.

“Nothing,” Max shakes her head, hiding her smile behind her own coffee, a burst of laughter springing past her lips when Chloe knocks the side of her boot against Max’s Converse in retaliation.

“No, really.” Chloe pushes, tearing open her final packet of sugar and pouring it directly onto her tongue just to hear the disgusted groan Max makes at her. “Do I have to sweet talk it out of you?”

Max gapes at her for a moment and Chloe swears her face goes bright red, right before she buries it in her palms. “That’s so  _ gross _ .”

And, yeah, it kind of is. She swallows too fast, before the granules dissolve; they scrape their way down her throat, like sand. The cloyingly sweet taste coats her mouth, barely alleviated by the sip of coffee she chases it with. Chloe grins despite the taste, comfortable in the lie, tonguing the filling in her back right molar. She’s always had a sweet tooth.

“Like you can judge,” Chloe says. “I don’t know anyone under seventy who takes their coffee straight black.”

“Know a lot of septuagenarians, do you?”

“Septu--?” Chloe rolls her eyes, picking up a greasy breakfast burrito and shoving it into Max’s hands. “Just. Eat. I don’t know how you do things in Seattle, but that is way too many syllables for Arcadia Bay.”

They eat in silence and it’s nice, with just the crash of the waves and the plaintive squawk of hungry seagulls, drawn close by the food split between them.

Chloe tears off a strip of tortilla and throws it to the gathered flock, watching as they swoop in to fight over the scrap. She knows it’s bad to encourage them. But, she thinks, it’s worse to be hungry. Max doesn’t chastise her, just follows her lead, tossing another scrap of food into the fray.

A battered old station wagon pulls into a parking space nearby and two lanky twenty-something guys uncurl from the cramped interior. They stretch and groan, and the driver makes his way to the back of the wagon to pull out their gear while the passenger busies himself unstrapping the boards atop the car.

Max has stopped eating, stiff and self-conscious even though her back is to the boys. Chloe can feel them eyeing her and Max as they go about setting themselves up, talking in low voices. Chloe sighs around her burrito, already bored of whatever tedious interaction these guys are clearly trying to set up when they approach the truck, wetsuits half-zipped.

“Morning ladies--” one of them starts.

Max twists around politely when she’s addressed but Chloe sighs, annoyed, and holds up a hand to interrupt. “Fuck off, I’m gay.”

They both pause at least, shuffling uncomfortable with the boards tucked under their arms.

“Besides, Jesus, dude. It’s like eight AM. Save the game.”

“It’s eight thirty,” he mutters weakly, before turning on his heel and stomping toward the beach, a display of annoyance rendered that much more ridiculous by his stupid beach booties. “Bitches.”

Chloe crams the rest of the burrito into her mouth and washes it down with a swig of coffee. She’d lost track of time. They’ll have go to go soon. When she glances back to Max, she’s still watching the guys march down to the water, dismayed.

“Shit,” Chloe says, feeling awkward. “Sorry. Did you want to…?”

It occurs to her she might have just executed the most unintentionally skillful cock block of her entire life. She’s not particularly sorry about it, actually; losers like that would have just been a waste of Max’s time, but it feels like the sort of thing she maybe should have checked with Max about first.

Max blinks and snaps her gaze back to Chloe. “Want to what?”

“Y’know, talk to those,” _ douchebags _ , ”guys.”

“Oh,” Max’s nose wrinkles. “No.  _ Ew,  _ Chloe. They were gross.”

Chloe laughs, tension uncoiling from her shoulders, and leans back on her elbows. The chill of the truck bed seeps through her clothes but she rolls with it, filling up her lungs with frigid, salty sea air, breathing it back out in a puff of steam.

Max is still watching her, cheeks pink from the cold.

“Do you surf?”

“A little.” And it’s not a lie, not exactly, because as recently as this summer, Chloe has let Rachel drag her out into the waves to try to teach her. But it never seems to take. Chloe prefers the certainty of pavement. The ocean is too wide, too vast. Chloe barely knows how to not get lost with both feet on the ground.

“Do you think you could teach me?”

“No,” Chloe laughs, hurrying to clarify when Max’s smile dips. “But Rachel could.”

“Rachel…?”

Chloe hums, letting her head loll back on her shoulders to peer up at the sky. “She’s a California girl, y’know? She likes to bitch, says the surfing up here’s not as good, but that doesn’t keep her out of the water. It’s how we met, actually.”

“Oh.”

She can’t quite tell by the tone of Max’s voice if she wants to hear the rest of the story, but Chloe closes her eyes, already lost in the memory, and lets it pour out of her.

She leaves out the part about exactly how hard it is, coming down alone on the beach after partying all night. She leaves out the part about how she still can’t remember how she ended up there in the first place. Softens the details about  _ why _ she’d been out all night; living with David in those years had been unbearably hard, something she almost hadn’t survived.

She talks about the cold, freezing her ass off on the beach as the sun crested behind her, teeth chattering in the wind. She doesn’t mention her fingernails going blue, the way she kicked off her shoes and socks, burying her bare feet in the sand, letting the cold sink into her bones because back then she chased numbness like a high, like it was the only thing that mattered to her.

She talks about the girl that emerged from the waves like something from a dream, wet hair plastered to her face and neck, dragging her surfboard through the sand to reach Chloe’s side. She talks about Rachel’s easy manner of speaking, the familiarity she’d treated her with, even though they’d never exchanged more than a dozen words over the course of the summer. She mentions the way the sand clung to Rachel’s calves and heels, but not the way the outlines of her nipples were visible through her surf shirt, the slow caving-in of Chloe's chest when their arms brushed. She talks about the feeling of the sun on her back, the way the warmth seemed to melt into her, slow and sweet like syrup.

She talks about the way Rachel’s gentle, unwavering persistence had overtaken Chloe’s reticence, Chloe finally surrendering and allowing Rachel to take her out for a hot breakfast.

“I guess that’s what Rachel’s like,” she says, opening her eyes and studying the unreadable expression on Max’s face. “She doesn’t let up, but you don’t really want her to.”

Max smiles weakly, looking out at the waves and then back to the coffee cup in her hand. “It was nice of her to buy you breakfast.”

The moment is suddenly heavier, a load Chloe doesn’t know how to bear. Her head is still buzzing with exhaustion, limbs sore, heart beating a caffeinated staccato in her chest. It’s frustrating, the feeling that the answer she needs is hovering just past the fog that clouds her mind.

She forces herself upright, snatches the food right from Max’s hands.  
“Fastest way to a girl’s heart,” she says, biting down with a flourish.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm on [tumblr](http://explosionshark.tumblr.com/), come watch me lose my shit over the barest scraps of new info about mass effect andromeda


	4. Rachel

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this one was late! I got caught up in Real Life stuff. Thanks to all previously mentioned betas. And thanks to ppl who've left comments. I haven't got around to replying yet but i read them all, they all mean a lot to me.
> 
> only one more chapter to go!

It’s two p.m. and Chloe has been mopping the same four squares of tile for fifteen minutes. Dylan either hasn’t noticed or doesn’t care, diligent behind the counter, arranging and rearranging the displays by the register.

It’s been an off day, busier in the earlier part of her shift than now. She’d been grateful for the rush when she came into work, the constant activity helping to wake her up, but now that things have settled down exhaustion is beginning to creep back in. Wishing for more work to do on a lazy Sunday afternoon shift feels almost sacrilegious, but Chloe thinks anything would be preferable to standing around fantasizing about heading into the dark stockroom and making a bed out of packs of toilet paper. They have three-ply back there, though. The good shit.

Chloe scrubs a hand down her face, rubbing her eyes ‘til sparks of color bloom in her vision. Her skin feels sore and tight. She glances over her shoulder to see if Dylan is watching, but even Mr. Employee of the Month himself is zoned out at the counter now. Chloe angles her body away from him and fishes the phone out of her pocket, typing out a quick message to Max.

**BORED** , she writes. **send help**.

Max’s reply comes through just seconds later, although it’s not exactly what Chloe was hoping for.

_Teatime with Kate!_ reads the caption under the picture of, well, just that. Kate clutching a mug across a table strewn with papers, a plate of some kind of pastry between them. Chloe squints at the background, trying to decipher what cafe they might be at, to tell if it’s close enough to convince Max to drop by, but it’s no use. She gets her coffee for less than a buck here at the Snack Shack most days, like every other reluctantly employed dropout in the Bay, or from the on-campus coffee shop at Bay City College when she has time to stop in after crashing classes. She doesn’t know the first thing about the other cafes that seem to have sprung up around the Blackwell campus overnight.

Another picture fills up her phone screen, Max and Kate side by side, with Max’s arm disappearing out of frame. Kate smiles bashfully, a touch awkward, holding the mug of tea at chest height with both hands. The quirk at the corner of Max’s mouth is sheepish, but her eyes are bright staring into the lens. Her hair’s a little messy; Chloe thinks Max must have ran her fingers through it before the picture, a nervous habit she’d had since they were kids.

It’s a good photo.

Chloe taps her thumb against the screen to save it.

Chloe shuffles over to the coffee station in the center of the store and snaps a quick picture to send to Max. **tea is for grannies and anemic european royals. come to the snack shack and drink some coffee like a real man. on the house**

Re-reading the sent text, even Chloe has to admit it’s not particularly appealing. She angles her phone toward the bucket of disposable creamers. **we have hazelnut** , she captions it.

_Sorry, Chlo. Kate and I are working on a project :(_

_I can visit after though! (^_^)_

_In like an hour and a half_

The three responses come in nearly simultaneously. Chloe thinks about Max hunched over in some coffee shop  booth, ignoring her schoolwork to tap out conciliatory messages to her. It doesn’t quite negate her disappointment, but it does take some of the sting out of the rejection.

**no emoji** , she responds tepidly. And then, fearing that her reply might have been too curt, she adds, **are we still on for tonight**

Tearing herself away from Max’s company this morning had been difficult. They hadn’t lingered long on the beach after finishing their meals, but Chloe had taken her time driving back to Blackwell, lingering in the parking lot talking until the very last minute. She’d almost asked if she could follow Max back to the dorms and use the showers there, sure she could steal some of her clothes back from Rachel’s closet to wear into work, but that felt like a bit much, even if Max seemed as reluctant to let her go as she had been to leave. In the end, they’d just made plans to hang out again when Chloe’s shift was over.

_Of course! :D_

_I can’t wait xoxo_

Chloe realizes she probably looks like a dumbass, smiling down at her phone, thumb hovering over the screen, but she can’t quite school the expression on her face. It’s been like that with Max since she got back. Almost the way it was when they were kids.

The buzz of the front entrance captures Chloe’s attention before she can think of a reply. Rachel’s making her way straight for Chloe, smile radiant, dimples set deep. “Hey, bitch.”

“Hey,” Chloe says, slipping the phone back into her pocket. Rachel doesn’t stop approaching until they’re practically toe-to-toe, the smell of her perfume washing over Chloe when she leans in to press a lingering kiss near the corner of Chloe’s mouth.

Chloe blinks and raises a curious eyebrow at the unexpected gesture, nodding subtly in understanding when Rachel winks and cants her head toward Dylan at the counter, watching them closely.

“Make me a drink,” Rachel says, hopping atop the coffee station.

“Y-you’re not supposed to sit there,” Dylan calls weakly from the front of the store.

Rachel ignores him.

“You’re not supposed to sit there,” Chloe repeats, loud enough for him to hear.

Rachel ignores her too.

Chloe shoots him a look across the store and shrugs helplessly.

“It’s self-serve here, y’know,” Chloe says, gesturing to coffee machine and array of creamers on the countertop. She could just start making the coffee now, she knows. She’s going to end up doing it anyway. But Rachel loves to win and Chloe loves to pretend she’s not that easy, so she keeps it up. “All this variety at your fingertips, so you can do it however you want.”

Rachel hums and smiles again, hopping off the counter and wandering down the aisle.

“Make it for me,” she insists, grinning over her shoulder. “You know what I like.”

Chloe rolls her eyes and gives in, fixing a cup of coffee Rachel’s way. By the time she’s finished, Rachel’s already at the front of the store, a pack of cigarettes on the counter, lazily flirting with a flustered looking Dylan. Chloe meets his eyes and gestures with the cup so he can ring it up for them.

“Thanks, babe,” Rachel purrs, pocketing the cigarettes and twining her arm with Chloe’s. “Let’s go.”

Chloe blinks and grins, shrugging again as Rachel tugs her out of the store. “Taking my thirty, Dyl.”

“But- wait. It’s my-,” he stumbles. “Your break’s not--”

“What?” Rachel pouts over her shoulder at him. Chloe snorts aloud, half-heartedly trying to bury the sound in a cough. “Is there some kind of problem?”

“No,” he says weakly. “I’ll take my lunch when you get back, I guess.”

Rachel’s hand slips under Chloe’s waistband before they’re even out of the store, tugging her work shirt out of her pants.

“You’re the fucking worst,” Chloe says, batting Rachel’s fingers away when they round the corner, and pulling the shirt over her head. It’s a little crisp outside in just a tank top but it’s worth it to be free.

“ _Please_ ,” Rachel waves her off, leading them to her car in the corner of the parking lot. “ _He’s_ the worst. That was, like, my C-game in there and it still totally worked. Ugh, I bet he’s jerking it in the stock room or something right now.”

“Gross,” Chloe groans, letting herself into the car. “Don’t put that shit in my head, I nap there sometimes.”

“I’m just saying, bring some wet-naps next time you have to head in there. Just in case,” Rachel smiles wickedly. She takes a sip of her coffee and hums in approval. “Ooh, hazelnut.”

Rachel drives them around to the alley behind the store. They’re not technically supposed to park here, Chloe knows, because this is where delivery trucks pull in to unload, but she doesn’t say anything. It’s warm in the car. Her head aches and her bones feel leaden and the soft rumble of the engine is sweeter than any lullaby could ever be. She reaches down and lets the seat back to a more comfortable position.

“No lunch?” Rachel asks, voice soft, twisting in her seat to peer down at Chloe’s face.

Chloe shakes her head sleepily. “Nah. Can you turn on some music?”

Rachel nods and hits the button, cranking the dial ‘til something quiet and vaguely familiar pours from the speakers, the faint buzz of radio static adding a new dimension of soothing to the sounds. Chloe lets her eyes slide shut, hears the click of Rachel’s seat sliding back and blinks one eye open to find Rachel at suddenly about her level.

“Sleep,” she says, reaching out to tug the front of Chloe’s beanie down over her eyes. Chloe grins and lets her body relax, listening through the music for the sound of Rachel breathing beside her.

It feels like she’s just shut her eyes when Rachel’s hand is back on her shoulder, shaking her awake.

“Morning sunshine.” Rachel’s voice is very close to her ear.  
Chloe blinks but it’s still dark. Groggily, she reaches up and pushes the beanie off of her eyes. “How long was that?”

“About twenty minutes,” Rachel says. “A perfectly timed powernap. Feel better?”

Chloe sits up, bracing her arms behind herself and stretching until her spine clicks. She rolls her neck and shoulders for good measure, biting back a smile as Rachel winces at the gross sounds her body makes. She’s still tired, but her mind is sharper now, more alert. “Yeah. Thanks.”

They leave the car and Chloe smokes half a cigarette before wrestling her sleepy limbs back into her work shirt. Rachel walks around to the back of the car and withdraws a white paper bag from the trunk.

“Here, I brought you this,” she says, shoving the bag in Chloe’s hands. She pauses, tilting her head and straightening the collar of Chloe’s shirt. “It’s probably cold now, but I didn’t expect you to pass out as soon as you got in the car.”

“Oh my god, dude,” Chloe says, cracking open the bag to peer down at the burger and fries she’d been given. She sets the bag down on the car and scoops Rachel into her arms, swinging her around. Rachel doesn’t fight or squirm, just laughs against her ear, a hand clutched on either side of her head for support and leans in. Chloe sets her back down on the ground and steps back with a grin. “Thanks, Angel.”

“No problem.”

Rachel agrees when Chloe asks her to wait outside until her co-worker has left for his lunch break.

“You can play lookout while I eat in case he comes back early or something,” Chloe says, surprised when Rachel agrees to that too without even putting up much of a fight.

Rachel ends up sticking around even after Chloe’s finished eating, helping herself this time to a coffee refill and perching on the counter. She doesn’t move, even when a customer comes in to buy some chips and an energy drink. Chloe checks him out without issue, tensing momentarily when his eyes linger on Rachel’s chest for half a moment too long. But nothing happens, he takes his stuff and goes and Rachel laughs it off, leaning further across the counter to yank off the beanie and muss Chloe’s hair. “You’re sweet.”

“Whatever,” Chloe mutters, snatching her hat back and pulling it over her head again. “How did the bake sale go?”

“Oh, yeah, I brought you some cookies,” Rachel says. “Shit, I left them in the car, do you want me to go get them?”

Chloe shakes her head reluctantly, still full from her meal. “Later.”

“The bake sale went alright, we made like three hundred bucks,” Rachel shrugs. “Not great, but not the worst. We’ll probably try something else next time.”

“Car wash,” Chloe suggests immediately, “You guys should do a car wash.”

“Oh yeah, you’d fuckin’ like that,” she laughs then pauses, thoughtful. “It’s not actually your worst idea, though. Would you bring your truck in?”

“Sure, it’s always been my dream to live a Warrant video,” Chloe grins.

“I always figured you were hiding some weird kinks but I didn’t think feathered hair would be one of them,” Rachel says. “I’ll indulge, but you’re paying for the hairspray.”

Dylan returns from his break shortly after, eyeing Rachel’s perch by the register with mild panic. Chloe rolls her eyes and slips out from behind the counter, settling a hand on Rachel’s lower back and guiding her off the counter.

“I’m just gonna walk her out, dude,” Chloe says, brushing past him. “Like, five minutes. Be a bro and hold it down for me here. Thanks.”

They leave before he has a chance to protest, though Chloe doubts he’d have much to say. She knows he hates her guts, but it’s not her fault the dude is pathetically easy to push around.

“Thanks for stopping by,” Chloe says, leaning her elbow on the top of the car and bending down to speak to Rachel through the open window. “You busy tonight?”

“Nothing serious,” Rachel shrugs. “Why?”

“Come hang out with me and Max,” Chloe says. “I’m picking her up from Blackwell after work, I can get you guys at the same time.”

“Okay,” Rachel agrees. “What are we doing?”

They actually hadn’t gotten that far in their planning earlier.

“I'm taking her to the skatepark,” Chloe decides, thinking it's the kind of thing Max would probably enjoy anyway. “Max can bring her camera. I'll shred, she can get some sick action shots, and you guys can talk about art bullshit.”

Dylan is predictably pissy when Chloe walks back into the store, but he settles down when Chloe gives him a handful of cookies from the tin Rachel had brought from the bake sale.


	5. Max and Rachel

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Last chapter! Thanks again to everyone who beta'd.
> 
> Look out for Kae's next fic in this series sometime soon

The sky is purple to the east, slipping further into blue as the sun sinks into the ocean. Chloe drags Max to the top of the quarter pipe at the back of the park.

“It’s the best place to watch the sunset,” she insists, steadying Max with a hand on both shoulders before gently turning her around to face the horizon. “Look.”

Max ignores her, still fretting, but it’s not the height that makes her nervous. “What if other people want to use it?”

Chloe casts a glance toward the handful of other people in the park, recognizing each of them by face if not by name. Arcadia Bay is kind of a small community in the first place, but boiling it down to just skaters makes it positively microscopic. She knows her own rep. She knows what this looks like. Those guys are not about to interrupt.

“Don’t worry about it,” Chloe says, dropping her hands from Max’s shoulders and shuffling over to stand by her side instead. “Max, look at the clouds.”

They’re neon pink out over the water, glowing beacons against the pale blue expanse of the sky.

The horizon is a strip of bright orange blazing in the distance. Max gasps, just barely audible, and reaches into her bag to dig up her camera.

“Wowser.” She licks her lips, tongue still blue from the slushie Chloe had brought her from work.

“Yeah,” Chloe agrees, tugging her own bottom lip into her mouth, seeking the taste of sticky sweet syrup. But the only trace left of the drink they’d shared before is the faint pressure that throbs behind her forehead. She drank too fast again.

Chloe battles her restlessness for a few minutes longer, trying to enjoy the moment, but she knows she’s done a poor job when the tapping of her shoe against the piping draws Max out of her art trance.

“I haven’t seen you skate in ages,” Max says. Her hand glides through her hair, brushing it back from her face. Chloe wonders what she has to be nervous about. “I bet you’re really good at it now.”

It’s speculation more than praise, but it uncoils the tightness around her lungs anyway.

“You know it, Mad Max,” Chloe grins, setting her board at the lip of the pipe, angling her body for the drop. “Don’t blink. I’m gonna tear shit up.”

There’s a peace in this that she’s never found anywhere else. It’s in the momentum, the wind in her face. Skating’s not like life; it gets easier the more you do it. It’s in her body, the way it moves with barely a thought now, knees bent, feet sure. It’s in the sound, the scrape of wheels on concrete, the perfect slice of quiet in the hangtime, the clatter in the landing. It’s the certainty of that, the constant hunger of gravity, the indifference of the pavement. The easy jolt that rattles her ankles when she lands smoothly and the tidal wave of pain from the most brutal of wipeouts speak the same loving message: _you are here, this is the proof, you are not going anywhere._

It’s easy, Chloe finds, showing off for Max like this. It’s like five years ago, maybe even better. Max’s eyes are on her the whole time, not straying to her latest skater boy crush. She feels loose, weightless, buzzing with energy.

A whoop in the distance draws Chloe’s attention, and she rolls out of the shallow bowl she’d been skating in to follow the sound.

Rachel’s here, picking her way through the sparse crowd of boys that seem to manifest whenever she arrives somewhere new, casually holding a canvas messenger bag to her side with a well-placed palm. _Interesting._

Chloe shoots a look back to Max and cants her head in Rachel’s direction before taking off to meet her.

“Hope I’m not late,” Rachel says, rattling her bag lightly. Chloe recognizes the clink of glass instantly, a slow smile spilling out across her face.

“Nope,” she says, grinning wolfishly. “The party’s just getting started.”

Rachel loops their arms together and Max watches intently as they make their way across the park. Chloe knows, immediately, that the confession that had tumbled wildly out of her mouth last week is the source of Max’s scrutiny. She can’t help but wonder if Max can see through the cracks, if the lies Chloe had told in her bedroom, _we fucked once or twice, I don’t think she even remembers,_ show on her face. If Max can see the truth in the half-moon indents Rachel’s nails leave on the inside of her elbow when they part.

She hadn’t _meant_ to lie. Hell, she hadn’t meant to tell Max anything about the times she’d had sex with Rachel at all. It had all just come pouring out of her and once she’d started talking, she hadn’t been able to stop, even when she realized she was revealing too much.

Max, for her part, had been kind, handling Chloe’s tactless confession with uncharacteristic grace. There had been no hint of judgement in her voice when she’d asked how Chloe felt about the situation. It makes it worse, really, because she knows now she should have just come clean about the whole mess.

It’s too late for that now, though.

It sucks, but all the beds Chloe’s making these days seem harder and harder to lie in. Someday, she’ll probably have to deal with that, but for now she just catches Max’s eyes and smiles like she could really mean it.

Max smiles back, just barely reluctant, and right now that’s all she needs.

Chloe passes her board up to Max when she gets back to the ramp and turns to help Rachel up. Rachel slaps her hand away and hauls herself up the quarterpipe with ease, smirking defiantly at Chloe’s offended expression.

“Hey Max,” Rachel says, sitting on her left. She pulls the bag into her lap and opens it up. “Thirsty?”

“Oh,” Max says, dismayed, when Rachel offers her a bottle of liquor. “No thank you, Rachel.”

Rachel tilts her head, challenging. “Not your brand?”

“You could say that,” Max says. “I don’t drink.”

“Neither do I,” Rachel grins. “I just have fun.”

Max looks distressed.

Chloe hauls herself up the ramp, sitting on the lip of the pipe on the other side of Max. She tugs her beanie off, running a hand through her sweaty hair and tossing it behind them.

“Rachel,” Chloe warns. _Play nice_ , she holds the words under her tongue, trying to stare them into Rachel’s brain through meaningful eye contact.

It must work because Rachel actually looks almost bashful when she speaks again. “Oh. You were serious. Sorry.”

“It’s fine,” Max assures her, smiling tightly. “Don’t worry about it, I just--”

“I should have thought about that,” Rachel admits with a wince. “I could go grab a soda or something...?”

“No, no,” Max insists, voice strained. She’s blushing now, twisting her hands nervously in her shirt. Embarrassed. “It’s fine.”

“What’d you bring?” Chloe demands, leaning over Max’s body to yank the bottle out of Rachel’s hands. Her interruption has the desired effect, taking the spotlight off of Max, an old trick from when they were kids. Max had always been shy, wilting under too much attention. It’s always been different for Chloe; positive or negative, she’d just wanted to be seen. The dynamic worked well for them.

Once, when they were kids, Chloe had faked a stomach ache so intensely as to interrupt one of Max’s lectures; the Caulfields had rushed her to the emergency room, fearing a burst appendix. She got grounded for a month when nothing turned out wrong.

It had been worth it. Max wrote her letters tied to tennis balls and launched them into her room through her open window. The grounding only lasted ten days before her parents caved anyway, finding Chloe’s pent-up energy was more of a punishment for them than being cooped up was for her.

“Got that OE, baby,” Rachel smirks, releasing the bottle. “Drink up.”

Chloe thinks about the bottle of Glenfiddich tucked away in Rachel’s father’s study at the Cabin. She thinks of Rachel’s expensive car, her brand new laptop, and the forty-ounce bottle of three-dollar malt liquor Rachel just handed to her. Rachel isn’t defined by her money, but there’s a thrill for her, Chloe knows, in slumming it.

Chloe opens the bottle and takes a long pull, wincing at the taste before she passes it back to Rachel. Evan Michael Amber, with his two-hundred-dollar bottles of scotch, would throw a bitch fit if he saw his only daughter knocking back Olde English with a high school dropout on a Sunday night.

Rachel grins into the bottle and Chloe knows she’s probably thinking the same thing.

“Sweet camera, Max,” Rachel says, leaning over Max’s lap to pass the bottle back to Chloe. “Can I see it?”

Chloe tenses, tongue poised behind her teeth to interrupt again, but Max only hesitates for a moment.

“Sure,” she agrees, handing the camera to Rachel. “It’s a Spectra Pro.”

“It used to be my dad’s,” Chloe says, and it hurts a little like it always does, but then Max catches her eyes and smiles. It’s a gentle sort of smile, something for a scared kid or some wounded animal. _It’s okay_ , it says. _I’ve got you_.

“Yeah,” Max adds. “Crazy to think he even used it here with you, Chloe.”

Her dad used to follow her around with a camera everywhere, back when she was learning to skate. She still has the VHS tapes back home, probably piled into a box in the shed somewhere. His excuse back then had been that he was helping her create a trick reel that would launch her pro skating career. A pretty good cover for a dad that was just scared his kid would break her neck doing something stupid.

“And now you’re continuing his legacy,” Rachel says, lifting the camera up to peek through the viewfinder. “They should make a documentary or something about you guys.”

Rachel hands the camera back unharmed and Chloe lets out a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding.

“Did you manage any shots of Chloe eating shit?” Rachel asks.

“Hey,” Chloe mumbles around the mouth of the bottle, taking another sip

“No,” Max says, cracking a smile, “not this time.”

“ _Hey_.”

Rachel grins, “Too bad, that would have been hilarious. Can I see the photos you did take, at least?”

“Ah,” Max pauses, shifting nervously under Rachel’s gaze. “Okay.”

She pulls the photos out of her bag and flips through the first few in the stack. Chloe leans in closer to look and Max sighs and spreads them out on her lap so she and Rachel can both view them easier.

They’re good. She looks pretty badass in a few of them. Action shots: perched on the lip of a bowl; a nosegrind, eerily balanced, captured halfway down the rail; suspended in midair, board upside down beneath her, an interrupted flip trick. One picture stands out, so boring by comparison: Chloe alone in the frame, cigarette between two fingers, laughing against a backdrop of concrete and pink sky. It takes her a moment to place it, realizing Max must have taken it when she bummed a smoke from one of the other skaters at the park.

She taps her finger against it. “Hey, what gives, I’m not even doing anything cool here.”

“Chloe, Chloe,” Rachel shakes her head and sighs, like she’s talking to a particularly dumb child. “Look at the _framing_ here. The colors! Look, check out this angle, she actually makes you look kind of majestic.”

Chloe collects her board and drops back into the park once Rachel and Max start talking composition and she finds herself totally lost. She’s a little shakier now, edging toward the tipsier side of buzzed, but she can’t fight the pull of the pavement, the ache in her bones for motion.

She skates until the sun dips down, nearly swallowed by the sea, and the lights in the park begin to turn on. The clouds have gone purple now, the color of bruises, and when she makes her way back to Max and Rachel their faces are hard to read in the halflight.

“Getting late,” Chloe says. “You guys wanna get out of here?”

  
They do. Chloe kills the bottle while they collect their things. It was nearly empty anyway, lukewarm and flat by the time she puts it down. She skates over to the trash cans near the front of the park to recycle it, and when she returns to Rachel and Max they’re ready to go. Chloe helps Max down from the ramp and, this time, when she offers her hand, Rachel accepts.

**Author's Note:**

> [I'm on tumblr!](http://explosionshark.tumblr.com/) hmu, talk to me about amberpricefield, send me pictures of your dogs.


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